CUFF LINK

Death steps out
of the mirror.

It has the colour
of your eyes and

your most perfect
smile.

And slowly as you
watch

adjusting a recalcitrant
bow tie

it becomes you
until it all but

resembles you
you the heap on the floor

bow tie still
slightly askew.

And you step into the mirror
and it closes behind you.

"How Cocteau-ish?"
you think.

Death takes your place
pretends its really you.

Your wife's screams
a flock of birds

startling to the skies
the first rain falls.

A cuff link rolls under the bed
that won't be found

until a month later
silver the one that says

father.